Second Life
Copyright© 2026 by Bisamrattan
Chapter 2: Eleonora’s
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 2: Eleonora’s - A suicidal girl is offered the choice of having her memories wiped and becoming a sex worker. She agrees.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Ma/ft ft/ft Fa/ft Consensual Mind Control BiSexual Fiction Restart Orgy Foot Fetish Prostitution Slow
The door slammed, and the van moved away. Jessie looked around.
She stood in a narrow street lit by lanterns. The buildings were low and old here, only three or four stories high, their ground floors occupied by small shops, cafes, and restaurants, some of them still open. The place seemed calm and almost respectable. A group of four men sat outside a bistro, smoking and laughing loudly. A couple walked past, their arms linked, their laughter light in the warm night air. Jessie felt a strange sense of dislocation. This could have been a vacation. She could have been a tourist, exploring a new city on a warm summer night. But she wasn’t.
She was standing at the door of the establishment with the simple sign that read “Eleonora’s”. Posters on either side of the door depicted graceful young women in various elegant, yet very suggestive poses. The words “Live the Dream” and “Where Fantasies Become Reality” were printed in elegant script beneath the images. A dream. A fantasy. Her own, or—? She reached for the handle, but the door opened before she could touch it.
A woman stood in the doorway. She was in her forties, maybe, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, and a face that was both beautiful and cold, like a marble statue. She was wearing a simple black dress that did little to hide a figure that was still trim and firm. She looked Jessie up and down, her gaze clinical and assessing.
“I’m Eleonora,” she said simply. “Call me Ellie. And you must be Jessie, a wiped girl. Welcome to your new home.”
Jessie stepped inside. The door closed behind her, shutting out the sounds of the street. The interior was warm and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, old wood, and something else, something musky and primal. The lobby was decorated in deep reds and golds, with plush velvet sofas and dark wood paneling. It was elegant, in a heavy, theatrical way. A registration desk on one side, a podium against the wall across from it.
“When our clients come here to pick a girl in person, not ordering one on the site, all available girls come down here and line up for display,” she explained matter-of-factly. “You’ll be doing it too.”
“Clients?” echoed Jessica.
“Ah, they hadn’t told you. We are the escort salon. The elite escort one, I would say. You’ve got lucky, girl. No whoring you out on cheap back alleys here. All clients are high-profile, wealthy, and always screened. Low risk. Some become regulars for some girls, some like diversity. You’ll learn to provide a wide range of premium experiences.” She glanced at Jessica and smirked. “A quite wide range of them. You will be agreeing to everything that does not leave permanent scars on your body.”
Her explanation, delivered in a dispassionate business tone, was more real and more raw than the most explicit porn Jessie had ever seen.
Ellie’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “You need a proper name and a story. Something believable but enticing. Your new identity. Your image. A cover for the blank slate.”
She circled Jessie, her steps soft on the thick carpet. “Young, and fresh, and unspoiled. You have that look of curious innocence that many of our clients value the most. We’ll play along those lines. Take off your robe.” Jessie obeyed. Ellie circled her again, looking and touching her— in the intimate places, too. “Perfect. Not a virgin, but not used too much either. Your name ... let it remain as is, Jessie. No last name. Your story...” She rubbed her chin. “Not too sophisticated, with room for your improvisation ... A runaway, maybe. From abusive parents. A little bit broken, but with a hidden fire. Seeking a father figure, a protector. But also ready to ... show gratitude. Stick to this story, improvise the details on the fly when the clients ask. Okay.” She nodded. “Drop this rag into the bin by the door, and follow me.”
Jessie left the cheap kimono in the bin, as if she had stepped out of her skin. Naked as a newborn, her connections with the previous life severed. She was just a body, moving through the dimly lit corridors of the house. A body for sale.
The creaking wooden stairs leading upstairs, the pleasant feeling of the worn wood under her bare soles. The second floor was much more lively, with the bright light, music, the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and fast food. There were about a dozen girls in the hall – as young as Jessie, and older, but not by much, still in their twenties. Some of them were naked, or in mesh lingerie that only pushed up and emphasized but hid nothing, or in simple light robes. Some were reading or watching a tablet, some were smoking and chatting. Two girls in just bras and thongs were lazily playing a fighting game on the console on a big TV. Everyone had an expression of a mix of boredom, indifference, and some underlying, simmering tension.
Jessie was the fresh meat, and she could feel the dozen pairs of eyes on her, their gazes a mixture of appraisal, envy, and indifference.
“She’s the new one, a wiped one,” one of the girls, a tall, statuesque blonde with breast implants and a haughty look in her eyes, drawled from where she was leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. “Another pretty little thing for the grinder.”
The hallway buzzed with low, knowing laughter.
“Let her be, Lana,” Ellie said sternly. “She needs to settle in. She’ll be working with you soon.”
Lana rolled her eyes but didn’t press the matter. She took a long drag from her cigarette, her gaze lingering on Jessie’s body.
Jessie felt strangely at ease in this company. They might have teased her, but without any hostility. And their half-bored, half-relaxed, half-excited mood matched hers perfectly. She looked back at them, a small smile playing on her lips. “Hello! I’m Jessie,” she said. “Just Jessie. No second name.”
“Nobody has second names here,” a woman about thirty years old, maybe the oldest of them except Ellie, said from a couch, without looking at her, her attention fixated on a smartphone game. She was wearing only a transparent lace robe. “Except for Ellie, maybe. She used to be a top-tier girl in her day. Now she manages us. She owns this business.”
“Used to be? She was a...” Jessie started.
The woman finally looked up, her eyes a weary shade of gray. “What, you think she got this business for her looks?” She let out a short, harsh laugh. “She worked for it. The hard way. Now she manages her own stable.” She went back to her game, swiping furiously at the screen. “Don’t mind me. I’m Irina. Just a Russian whore trafficked here in my teens— and it’s just my legend, mind it. And you are now Jessie, the broken little runaway.”
The air in the room was thick with unspoken stories, each a variation of the same theme. Each of them had their own bridge, their own rooftop. But they had found their way here. This was their life now, their reality. And Jessie realized she was becoming a part of it. She felt no shame, only a sense of belonging to this strange, dysfunctional sisterhood.
Ellie led her further, to the hallway.
“You’ll get familiar with everyone, with time,” she said. “The girls come and go, there are more of them. Some are with their clients now, some are taking a day off, such things. We are on a loose schedule here, no fixed hours, nobody’s forced. The girls are here simply because they need money, and— well, some really love this work. But they decide themselves when their next shift will be, and how much time they will spend here waiting for their next client.” She smirked. “Except for you, of course. You have no other home, and no personal bank account. You are a property of the salon, so you’ll spend your whole time between the clients and this place.”
She led Jessie. “Here is the restroom with showers, here is the kitchen. You may take anything you want from the fridge. Here are the dorm rooms, take any free bed when you want to sleep.”
Jessie looked inside, then counted the doors. “So— few? There are so many girls, and you said there are more of them...”
“We aren’t a brothel, we do not serve here. Takeout only. Those beds are just for naps. Do you know what the escort job is?”
“Not really.”
“You go out with the clients that pick you, and spend the time with them, and keep them company in everything they’d pay for. And not here. Usually they bring you to hotels and motels, sometimes they rent a place specially for it. Some have apartments for that purpose, or even bring you to their private homes. The main dish is, of course, sex, all kinds and kinks they would like – just no permanent body damage, as I said – but the aperitifs are also important. They want not a simple fuckmeat; they want the feeling of a girlfriend — or a daughter, or anyone they like – they want your attention, and your emotions, and the roleplaying for them. That’s why they hire escorts, not regular hookers. We’re actresses. We get money for selling our bodies, but we earn real tips for selling the illusion.”
She led Jessie into the room that had the porn shooting setup, with the cameras and lights surrounding the bed in the center, and a wide set of toys.
“We do promotional porn all the time,” Ellie explained, turning on the lights and the camera. “The scenes are uploaded on the premium sections of our site, with the teasers on all free porn sites, so a client may want some extra thrill by fucking a girl from the video he likes. And, well, this is for the new girls like you. We’ll make your photos and a couple of videos now, for your profile on our site, to showcase your talents.”
Jessie’s heart hammered in her chest, but not from fear. A strange, eager warmth spread through her lower belly. “My ... talents?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.
Ellie’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “The ones they’ve amped up for you. The orgasms. The sensitivity. The insatiable little thing they’ve turned you into.” She ran a finger down Jessie’s arm, raising goosebumps on her skin. “You must show what you can do. Not all of it. Just give them a teaser. Make them want you. Make them need you.” She gestured to the bed. “We can start your practice right now. Get comfortable. Let’s start with the simpler shots.”
And Jessica obediently posed for the camera, from the headshots, through the medium shots, to the full body shots, sitting, lying, on her knees, in the corners of the bed. She felt no embarrassment, no shame, her thoughts were calm and cold. Instead, there was an increasing arousal. She liked her own body; she loved the way it was looked at. She was a piece of art in the gallery, and this thought gave her a new, dizzy feeling.
“Okay, that’s fine,” Ellie said from behind the camera. “Now a little more action. I’ll just film, you will do it yourself. Show me how you please yourself.”
Jessie settled into the large bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat building inside her. She looked directly into the camera lens, her gaze steady, challenging. Then she let her eyes drift shut, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her hands began to explore her own body. Her fingers danced over her skin, tracing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She pinched her nipples, the sharp pleasure sending a jolt straight to her core.
She spread her legs, her knees falling open, an invitation to the unseen watcher. Her fingers found her slick folds, and she began to move, a slow, deliberate probing of the area. She shuddered and gasped with the first jolt of pleasure. And, in no time, she was shaking and shuddering, crying out with the raw, unfiltered release. The camera kept rolling. Ellie’s voice was a distant, reassuring murmur. “Good. Very good. That’s what the clients want to see.”
The raw need for release was already a familiar, comforting presence. The shame and the hesitation were gone, wiped away with her past. She was an open book now, her body a language she was just beginning to understand. And this was a story she wanted to tell.
“Now do it with the vibrator.” Ellie handed her the large two-headed device, for both the vagina and anus at the same time.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.